Faded Smiles
by Rising From The Flames
Summary: So you keep talking to her. And the reason you decide not to stay away from her or ignore her? Maybe it's as simple as that she can make you smile where your pureblood Slytherin friends have never been able to.


**This is my entry for the 1st (2nd? I'm not sure) Round of the Fancfiction Idol Competition. The challenge was to write a story in the Riddle Era.**

**The song is Jenny Lynn, by Katie Herzig, and the story is really inspired by the entire song, but I chose short excerpts for the beginning and end.**

**I do not, never have, and probably never will own Harry Potter :'(**

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><p><em>it's all ok<em>

_I think you may have made the best mistake_

_I think we're made to give ourselves away_

_Cause there's no other way to live_

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><p>You don't remember the first time you met her, or the first time you talked to her. You don't remember your first conversation, the first time you teased her, or the first time she managed to make you smile. She had always just been there. One more face in the crowd as you ate your breakfast at the long table or passed her on your way upstairs. There was no forming of your relationship; it had always been there, like the waves of the ocean. You would tease her mercilessly, and she would retaliate with a scathing comment, or a glare. You'd push each other to your limits, but in the end, everything would always be okay. You would manage to turn the teasing around and she would coax that rare smile out of you. She had always been the only one who could make you smile without involving the pain of someone else. But none of that really matters, does it darling? Those were just days when you were young and naïve, before you knew better. That was back when you were told you were one of them, but you never really believed that. You were special.<p>

Still, in the deepest, darkest corners of the night, sometimes your dreams disobey and you are taken back to those days. And suddenly, those memories shine just a little brighter and the little moments and smiles mean just a little more.

...

She had never been good at hiding her emotions, or thinking before she spoke. It was a quality you had always hated in people; it proved that they were stupid and incompetent. But, for some reason, you didn't mind it when she looked up at you with her big, innocent, grey eyes and spouted out whatever was on her mind, whether it was about an oddly shaped cloud, or a secret she had thought up that morning. It was just as much a part of her as her ever-present smile and the way she would stare off into the distance for hours, a dreamy expression lighting up her face. Not that you watched her.

It is in just such a moment that you find her that day. She is sitting on her bed, staring out the little window, the dreamy expression on her face, but this time it looks troubled. You walk over and sit down next to her.

"You look stupid with that expression on your face." She turns to look at you slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep. You wait, but she does not join in on your usual banter. "What is it?" you finally ask.

"Why do you have to go?" Her voice seems to come from miles away.

"I already told you, I'm going to a special school, because I'm special." You puff out your chest a little. So you can't tell her you're a wizard, that doesn't mean you can't tell her you're special.

"I don't want you to go." She whispers. You stare for a moment, shocked at the seriousness in her voice. The silence rings on, it isn't uncomfortable, but it is heavy with things unsaid. After a few moments she gets up and walks out of the room. It is the first time you have ever felt like she isn't telling you everything.

She isn't at dinner that night, and you don't see her the next day either. When the man with the long beard, he called himself Professor Dumbledore, comes to pick you up, your eyes flit around the room one last time. You aren't looking for her, of course not, just checking that she hasn't walked through the door since the last time your eyes scanned the room.

…

That year at Hogwarts is the first time you've ever felt at home. And you almost forget about her. _Almost_. But every time you've gotten over wondering what she's doing, someone will laugh and you'll remember all over again. Of course, you never tell anyone. A Slytherin never thinks of muggles, unless it's with scorn. But, for some reason, you can't help it.

…

You return to the orphanage for the summer and are greeted by a face full of curly blond hair as she tackles you. When she finally lets go, the chatter starts. It's like you've been handed a long lost baby blanket. Even looking back, you cannot describe the emotion that washes through you, but it's something akin to relief, with a hint of lilacs.

She wants to know what the school is like, if you've made any friends. Had you forgotten her? Would you drop out and come to her school? You shake your head and realize that your mouth is stretched into a smile. The seldom-used muscles in your cheeks begin to burn, but it's a good kind of pain. You try to remember when you had smiled like this at Hogwarts, but nothing comes to mind. It's then you realize the chatter has stopped. She's standing at the end of the hall, your trunk next to her and she's looking at you with a strange expression on her face. But you blink and the moment's gone and she's smiling and chattering away again. You follow her up to your room, taking the heavy trunk from her small hands.

It isn't until later that night that you notice something is different. You realize you haven't heard her laugh once since you got back, and her eyes are shining a little less bright. You think about asking her, but she's in the middle of a story about how annoying one of her classmates is, and you don't want to interrupt. By the time she's done, your concern is completely forgotten.

That night, as you lay in bed, the past year comes crashing back down on you. You remember who you are, and who she is. The next day, you avoid her. You don't know what to do. If you ignore her, she'll think it's just another one of your games, but you can't bring yourself to tell her that you don't want to have anything to do with her, because that's one lie you don't have the strength to tell. So you keep talking to her. And maybe you're a little colder than you used to be, and maybe it's harder and harder for her to coax a smile out of you. As for the reason that you decided not to ignore her or stay away from her? Maybe it's as simple as that she can make you smile where your pureblood Slytherin friends have never been able to.

…

And your second year at Hogwarts comes, and you still spend any quiet moments wondering what she's doing, but this time, your musings are riddled with guilt and doubt. Why can't you just tell her to leave you alone? You're a Slytherin, and she is a muggle. You are better than her. But every time you muster up your courage and decide to tell her you don't want anything to do with her, you manage to find yet another reason why you should keep her as a friend for just one more year.

And your third year comes and goes, and all the while you keep telling yourself 'just one more year'. And one more year becomes two, and then three. And each year the shine of her eyes is a little duller, and her dreams sparkle a little less bright, but you manage to ignore these details, too caught up in your own guilt and denial. Even when you start noticing the bruises on her arms and legs and the occasional black eye, you still swallow all her excuses of falling down stairs and tripping. Because she is a muggle, and you are better than her and … but you are finding it harder and harder to look away.

And so you become colder and colder, but still she hangs on, trying all the harder, all for the satisfaction of coaxing that one special smile out of you that has always been hers and hers alone. And you don't notice the way your feelings are changing. You don't realize the way you've started watching her when she walks by, or the way you'll stare at a door after she's walked out. Or how your blood runs a little hotter and the room looks a little brighter when she's near you. You don't remember the first time you thought to yourself how beautiful she looked in her ragged tee shirt and jeans and then hit yourself for thinking that about a muggle. Or the first time her laugh sent pleasant shivers running down your spine.

…

One day, the summer after your sixth year, the two of you are in your room. You are sitting at the desk and she's lying on the bed. And no, you weren't thinking about how beautiful she looked with her ponytail bunched up against the pillow and her shirt hugging the curves of her body. You would never think about a muggle like that, right?

"Tom! Are you listening?" her voice startles you out of your thoughts and you feel your face heat up ever so slightly.

"What?" And you're covering your emotions with a layer of frost, again.

"Never mind." She says exasperatedly, and she shifts on the bed, her shirt hiking up ever so slightly to expose a particularly nasty bruise right over her belly button.

"What happened?" You find yourself asking, shattering your perfectly maintained wall of her lies and cover-ups.

"I.. I ran into the stair railing." Her lie sounds weak and half-hearted. You can't believe how long you've swallowed her stories.

"I don't believe you." Your voice is harsher than you planned, but you don't try to soften it with more words. She looks away. The silence lasts so long that you're beginning to think she isn't going to respond.

"They're scared of you."

"Who?"

"The other kids. At the orphanage and in town." You feel a strange pleasure and power flow through your veins at those words.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"They think that I'm plotting with you, or something like that, and they hate me for it." She tries to pass it off as not important with a wave of her hand, but rage has flared to life within you. It isn't until you hear the chair crash to floor that you realize you're standing, wand held tight in your hand. Everything is forgotten; that she's a muggle, that you shouldn't have anything to do with her, and all that's left is rage towards the people that hurt her. A small hand around your wrist brings you back to the present. Her eyes bore into yours, pleading.

"Please, don't." She pulls on your wrist and you sit down heavily on the bed next to her. She looks so delicate and fragile. An overpowering urge to take her away and hide her somewhere no one would ever be able to find her and hurt her again washes over you, but you resist it.

And then she's sitting up, her mouth pressed against yours. The kiss isn't hesitant, or shy. It's just like everything else she does, the idea popped into her head, and she acted on it. The smell of lilacs that always hovers around her overwhelms you. The flames of anger are smothered by a different kind of fire that burns through your veins, and nothing else matters but her arms wrapped tightly around your neck and her lips on yours. And maybe it lasts an eternity or a second, but when she pulls away you're both breathing hard. Somehow your arms have made it around her waist and your fingers have tangled themselves in her hair. And then you're laughing; a laugh of pure surprise and joy, and she's joined you. But you're quickly sobered as she gasps and her arms loosen their grasp on your neck to clutch her stomach. The anger flares up in you again, stronger than before. You take her hands in yours and squeeze, trying to take her pain away. Not once do you remember the wand lying forgotten on the floor beside your desk. You're lost in her deep, grey eyes. Then she leans in close, and you think for a second that she might kiss you again.

"I love you." She whispers, in the confident way she has always spoken whatever was on her mind. And you want to tell her you feel the same way. The words are already formed on your lips when your mind catches up with you, and you realize what you are doing. This is wrong. She is a muggle; she is below you. None of what you are feeling could be real. Even so, you have to get out.

You jump up and run out of the room, down the stairs and out of the stifling building that you've been forced to live in all your life. As a wizard it is your job to rule the likes of her, not the other way around. She has too much power over you. She has always had too much power over you. She has to be taken care of it. It would be easy to remove the threat, just like you removed your father and grandparents, the filthy muggles that were the only evidence your blood isn't pure. It would just take one, quick spell, you wouldn't even need to say the words. But the thought of her broken body hurts too much to bear. It's then you realize she not only has the power to make you smile, she also has the power to break you.

…

You stare out at the sun hanging low in the sky.

"W…what do you want?" You turn and smile at the boy standing behind you, but it's not _her_ smile.

"It seems you aren't so brave without your little cronies about you." You say, still smirking. You've already got the diary ready in your hand to perform the spell. "But I guess I'm not as easy to beat up as a girl." The boy in front of you is now shaking with fear and power flows through your veins. You raise your wand, and with barely a thought, the green light shoots towards the boy and he collapses.

A shriek pierces through your glee. You know who it is and you can feel your heart breaking. She isn't supposed to be here, she shouldn't have followed. But you made yourself a promise, and now she has seen too much. You school your features into a sneer and turn to face her. Your careful mask falters when you see the expression of disbelief and pain on her face, but you manage to keep it in place.

"Have I surprised you?" Your voice is calm and cold as ice. "Am I not who you thought I was?" She seems to be frozen in place, her lips moving with unspoken words, her eyes flitting to the boy's body. "Don't worry. It was quick. It might not have even hurt him. I wouldn't know. Although maybe a little pain would have been in it's place. Maybe I should have had a little fun before dealing the final blow." You notice how she winces ever so slightly and feel a stab of pain, but it's too late to turn back. "Do you not believe in repaying people for the pain they've caused? Neither do I... unless I get to do the repaying." The smirk is back on your face. "Or is it me? Have I frightened you?" You take a step closer. And another. "Are you regretting falling in love with me?"

"No." Her voice surprises you. A small spark of hope kindles in your chest; she doesn't regret loving you. "I will never regret love. Maybe falling in love with _you_ was a mistake. Maybe I knew you were a … a monster! And I just didn't want to believe it, but I will never regret love. After all, what is the point of life, or hope, or dreams, if it isn't for love?" You take another step and point your wand at her. You are now close enough that the tip of your wand rests against the hollow of her neck. "I know you're going to kill me, but I don't care."

"SHUT UP!" You push your wand harder into her neck. And you're furious at her for saying the one thing that you don't want to hear; the one thing that might be able to shatter the fragile wall around your heart.

Tears are rolling down her face, twinkling like morbid diamonds, and more than anything you want to close the distance between you and kiss them away. But that isn't you. You aren't a Romeo, or a Prince Charming, or a Knight in Shining armor, or any of that muggle rubbish. You are a wizard; a ruler. You are Lord Voldemort; and she knows too much.

Your wand hand shakes as you remember the way her kiss made you feel like you were soaring through sun-kissed, lilac-flavored skies. But you take a breath and steady your hand. This has to stop, you are the Lord Voldemort, and no one can have this kind of power over you. She tries to turn away from the pressure at her throat and you grab her shoulder, remembering the way her hand fit perfectly in yours. You've let this go on for far too long. She's a muggle, nothing more. She should be honored that she'll be the first to contribute to your immortality.

You watch her through a curtain of dreams as you whisper those two dreaded words; watch as the pain and, could it be, forgiveness, fade from her eyes until they are empty and she crumples to the ground like a rag doll. An unbearable pain sweeps through you, as if your heart, your soul, your entire being is being split in two. You gently stroke her cheek, only then realizing you've knelt down. It's still warm. She looks so fragile, like a broken porcelain doll. She could be asleep, if not for the emptiness in her eyes. You make yourself stand, your eyes still locked on hers, and pull out the diary, quickly performing the spell needed to trap the piece of your shattered soul.

…

But then you wake up and you remember that day as if it had happened in a dream, the rough edges softened and the reality blurred. You don't remember how you allowed yourself one last look at her lifeless form before turning away. How you felt a single tear make it's slow path down your cheek as you watched the sun setting in the water over the edge of the cliff. Or how the pain and rage boiled up inside you and was released in a high, maniacal laugh that rang out, bouncing off the jagged rocks and disappearing far out to sea. And you stood there, laughing to the setting sun. You don't remember her smile, or the freckles scattered across her nose. All you remember is her curly blond hair, the sound of her laugh, the smell of lilacs, and the way her lips felt against your cheek as she whispered 'I love you'.

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><p><em>I wish that I had your thin skin<em>

_I wish that I could let the love right in_

_Maybe I'd rather feel the pain_


End file.
